Tom Riddle and the Legacy of the Horned Serpent
by fEmAleNoMad
Summary: Like many young British orphans, Tom found himself taken away to Canada on behalf of his Majesty to work on a farm. When he has a burst of accidental magic, Tom's life changes forever as he gains a new identity and a family. But will he find his past or his future at Ilvermorny? (TW, child abuse, violence)


"Boy! You better not be slacking off! Tend to the hogs or you'll get what's coming to you!"

Tom glared at the voice from outside the barn. "I'm just finishing up with the milk, Mr. Parker," he shouted.

Tom thought nowhere could be worse than Wool's Orphanage, but he had been proven wrong. On his tenth birthday, Mrs. Cole has informed him they could no longer afford to keep him, and some of the other boys. Tom suspected this was a punishment for what he did to Billy Stubbs's rabbit though he wasn't sorry. The next thing he knew, he was sent on a boat to Canada to work on a farm in Alberta. He hated it. The journey had been rough, he was packed into a crowded boat with other children, and he had gotten sick in the passing months in the tightly packed, Dark and tumultuous journey. Afterwards, he was taken to port and unceremoniously handed to the tall burly farmer who was his master. Ha! He had no master, and he would never obey any of their orders. He was mulling on his fate when Mr. Parker three him out of his reverie.

"You should have been finished with that earlier! You lazy good for nothing. I knew I should have gotten another boy!" Parker yelled.

Tom huddled into the straw of the barn as a small snake slithered onto his arm, curling itself onto him.

"_The large human still bothering you?_" The snake, whom Tom had decided to name Claire, since she refused to tell him her name, asked.

"_No more than usual,"_ Tom hissed back. "_I have to go, I wish we could talk more."_

Tom grabbed the bucket of milk, hastily rushing back to the dairy shed.

"You're splashing everywhere Tom, have some patience." Mrs. Parker chided. She stood up from her churn and grabbed the pail. She frowned. "Look at this, You've spilled most of the bucket." She lifted her hand and boxed Tom on the ears, causing the boy to yelp.

As he felt the stinging pain ringing through is head, the remaining milk in the pail completely vanished. Mrs. Parker screamed, dropping the pail to the floor.

"What is it?" Parker ran into the dairy shed. "What did the boy do this time?"

"The milk...it vanished!" The woman screamed. "I knew it! I knew if we took in one of those wretched orphans from England they'd be no good. This one's in line with the Devil!"

Tom laughed. "If I'm in line with the Devil, God must truly have hated you both."

Parker slapped the boy in the face. "Don't you dare blaspheme the Lord in our house!" He grabbed a switch from beside the wall. "That's it, boy. I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice."

Tom felt hatred, pure white rage as the man grabbed him by the hair, and hit him with the switch. He felt the ground shudder as the couple continued to shout at him. He felt this sudden surge inside himself as he roared in anger, the butter churn toppling over, the buckets rolling to the floor, and the walls rattling.

Parker stopped, but the rattling continued.

"Tornado?" He asked.

She looked outside. "No," she replied in horror. "It's perfectly clear."

Tom shook, blinded by rage. He wanted them to hurt, he wanted them dead. He let out a scream, which rippled like a shockwave as red light flashed from his fingertips, hitting the roof.

The shingles of the shed started to fall one by one, hitting Parker in the head as he collapsed, unconscious. As his wife screamed his name, the rest of the roof collapsed.

—-

"Shame what happened to the Parkers," Matthew Williams, the town constable noted. Their neighbor, Mr. Fawley, had heard the commotion and discovered the wreckage. Mr. and Mrs. Parker has perished under the weight of the wooden beams, though their farm boy, Tom had survived unscathed.

"Never thought Parker would be one for shoddy workmanship," Fawley replied.

Williams nodded. "But these things happen. Best chalk it up to an act of God."

"What will happen to the boy?" Fawley asked. His thick white eyebrows furrowed in concern as his gnarled hand brushed against his bald head.

Williams rubbed his bushy red mustache. "He'll be sent to an orphan asylum in Calgary. I'll accompany him on the train."

Fawkey's clear blue eyes narrowed as his thin mouth twisted into a frown. "Is that necessary? All that trouble for a home boy? I'll take him in. I could use the help."

Williams looked at him quizzically, but burst into a grin. "If you really mean it, I'd be much obliged. Though are you sure? Parker told me this boy was a handful."

"I had three sons of my own. I think I can handle another boy." Fawley replied firmly.

Williams coughed. "Yes, of course. Well, I'd best be on my way. You can escort the boy to your farm?"

Fawley nodded. As Williams rode off on his horse, he waited until the constable retreated into the distance.

—

When Tom woke up, he found himself in a small bedroom, underneath a simple bed with a patchwork quilt.

"Good, you're awake."

Tom jolted upright and noticed the man sitting next to him on a wooden chair. It was Mr. Fawley, from the neighboring farm. Tom recognized his unwavering gaze from when he saw the man at church. He hated church. He wondered if he'd have to go next week or if Parker would try to keep him away as a punishment.

"I suppose it's my duty to inform you that your employer has passed on," Fawley remarked plainly.

Tom was pleased. "Good," he replied.

Fawley knit his brows. "May I ask you a few questions? Do you remember the last thing that happened to you before the roof collapsed?"

Tom glared at the man in front of him. "No, you may not." Idly, he felt a nudge inside his head, as he briefly remembered the afternoon, only for his mind to clamp up.

Fawley's eyes widened. "You're quite advanced. Few have attained a level of innate Occulmency, especially at such a young age."

"Occu...what?" Tom asked curiously.

"I will answer you, only if you answer me in return. Did you cause that flash of red light in the shed? Do not deny its presence, I saw it," Fawley asked, his eyes steely.

Tom blanched. "I don't know what you mean."

Fawley sighed. "Let me put it this way, have you ever felt like there was something different about you? Something strange and unusual you couldn't control?"

Tom stared at the man in front of him. Was this a trap? Would he send him to the madhouse if he admitted his deepest secret?

He had to take the risk, he had to know.

"I can talk to snakes," Tom admitted.

Fawley nodded. "Anything else?"

"I can make things move, if I want to. I can make people do things too."

I can hurt them, too, Tom thought.

Fawley studied the boy, then spoke. "It is also my solemn duty, so it would seem, to inform you that you're a wizard, Tom."

Tom blinked. The man was barmy. "Magic doesn't exist!" Tom shouted indignantly. If it did, he wouldn't be in this sorry state.

Fawley reaches into his pocket and retrieved a long polished wooden stick. He stood up and lifted it.

"_Serpentsortia!"_ He shouted.

As a large snake slithered out of his wand, Tom looked at it in surprise.

"_Are you real?" _Tom hissed to the snake in front of him.

"_I'm as real as you are," _it replied testily, sticking out its tongue to examine its surroundings.

Fawley flicked his wrist and the snake disappeared.

"What did you do to her?" Tom asked angrily.

Fawley raised an eyebrow. "It was a her?"

"You can tell by their mannerisms, and their voice," Tom replied irritably. It should be obvious though by their markings.

"Do you believe me now, Tom?" Fawley asked.

Tom thought about it, then nodded in resignation.

"Very well then." Fawley replied. "That leads us to the pressing question about your future. I'm honestly surprised to find another wizard in the province, let alone next door to me. If you so choose, I would be happy to teach you some basic magic at least until you receive your Ilvermorny letter. But, if you'd prefer to leave, I can take you to the asylum in Calgary in the morning."

Tom gripped his quilt in distress. "I'd like to stay." He looked at the man in front of him. "Would you really teach me magic?"

Fawley shrugged. "I'm not allowed to teach you anything useful, you won't be able to do anything too powerful until you get a wand of your own, and that won't be until you can go to school. But I can show you some of the older practices, but we'd have to be careful, those aren't entirely legal."

Any despair Tom might have felt about not being to learn all magic at once was dampened at the thought of learning something forbidden.

"Could you teach me now?" Tom asked.

This caused Fawley to laugh. "No. They're based on the lunar cycles. You'll just have to wait. But I will need your help in return. In exchange for room and board, I'll need you to help me tend to the orchard. Are those terms acceptable?"

"If you teach me magic, the terms are more than acceptable," Tom replied.

Fawley extended his hand. "Then we are well met. Welcome to the family, Tom."

Tom looked at the man's gnarled hand, then extended his own to shake it.

Tom settled in to life with Mr. Fawley, or Stewart, as he preferred to be known.

They would wake at dawn. Tom would gather the eggs and milk the cow, then he and Stewart would make breakfast. Tom would tend to basic chores, such as baking the bread and scrubbing the floor, while Stewart would chop firewood. Once they had finished their chores, they would tend to the orchard until teatime. Stewart and Tom would make supper together, and afterwards Stewart would teach Tom the old magics.

Stewart lit a candle while stating the oath of intention- a peice of old Druid magic Stewart said his family had brought with them from England, and placed an apple onto the oak table they used as a makeshift altar.

"Alright, so we've lighted a candle, and set our offering onto the table, what must we do next, Tom?" Stewart asked.

"Clear our mind, and recite the invocation," Tom replied instantly, having memorized the list from before.

"Excellent!" Stewart replied. "Since we're in a crescent, what element would we be most in tune with?"

"Air!" Tom answered.

"So ground yourself," Stewart said. "Clear your mind and try to focus in on your magic. Once you feel in control, try to make the apple float."

Tom closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his kids, he deepened his breathing and relaxed, feeling himself drift. He focused on finding his magic, and felt a power unknown, unsparked deep inside that was twitching on his fingertips. He thought of the apple hovering mid air.

_Float_

"Open your eyes, Tom."

Much to his surprise the apple was floating in midair, and spinning. Tom laughed, and as suddenly as it rose it plopped back down to the table, rolling off the side.

Tom growled in frustration. Picking up the apple and throwing it against the wall, causing it to smash into pieces, juices flowing into a puddle.

"Easy there, it was your first try," Stewart replied.

"But I was so close!" Tom screamed.

"And perhaps you will get it on your next try. But what can we learn from this?" Stewart asked.

Tom sighed. "I can't lose focus."

Stewart nodded. "You will need to keep your concentration in any field of magic, but ritual based magic is notoriously difficult. It will be much easier when you have a wand of your own."

"And when will that be? It seems all I can do is ritual magic, or mind magic." Tom whined.

"Most people never even learn the existence of mind magic, and you've already mastered the fundamentals, Tom. Patience." Stewart glances at the remains of the fruit on the wall. "Why don't you make an attempt at cleaning this up with magic?"

"How would I do that?" Tom asked. "Should I vanish the pieces?"

"You have learned how to vanish, so that is a possibility. But perhaps you could try making the apple whole again." Fawley suggested.

Tom frowned. "I thought that would be easier during the gibbous."

"It would be. Try it anyway." Stewart insisted.

Tom closed his eyes, and focused. He envisioned the whole apple, and felt the surge of power inside of him.

When he opened his eyes, the apple was whole again.

Stewart smirked. "Wasn't so hard was it?"

Tom huffed.

Stewart looked down at his shoes. "I think you might be ready to start reading your textbooks to Ilvermorny, if you'd like. I have a few for your first year up in the attic."

Tom beamed. "Really? Thank you, Stewart!"

He noticed the sadness in the man's eyes.

"Did they belong to your sons?" Tom asked.

Stewart wipes his eyes. "Only one of my sons went to Ilvermorny. The other two didn't have enough magic to attend. They could perform a few rituals, enough to observe the traditional rites, but that's it."

"Was your wife able to perform magic?" Tom asked.

Stewart laughed. "Moira couldn't. She's what we call a Nomaj. But she didn't run for the hills when she found out about me. Technically we're not allowed to marry nonmagical folk, but we were the only wizarding family in this area for centuries- there's hardly anyone else here. We only came to our sense on the matter after we basically turned our family tree into a wreath first."

"Do you think...I'll be able to go to Ilvermorny? Or will I be like your other sons?" Tom asked nervously.

Stewart gave a sad smile. "Tom, from what I've seen Ilvermorny would be lucky to have you. And even if you hadn't been so talented, I would have been happy to have you here with me as my son."

Tom hadn't thought about what would happen next. "When I go, will I see you again?"

"Of course. If you want to come back that is. You will need a place to stay for the summer, though if you'd prefer to stay in the states I could send you money."

"I'd like to come back," Tom replied firmly.

Stewart wiped his eyes. "Tom, this might be a bit presumptuous of me, but would you want to be formally adopted? I understand if you'd want to keep the memory of your parents and keep their name…"

Tom shook his head. "I have no memory of my parents. My mother died in childbirth. But I wouldn't mind becoming a Fawley."

Stewart extended his hand and raised his wand. "Very well then. Take your hand in mine, and I will begin the process."

Tom gripped the other man's arm and watched as he muttered an incantation in Latin. A golden glow emitted from his wand, and he felt a tug from his navel pulling him forward. He let go and stretched his hand, which was suddenly feeling stiff.

"From now on, you are Tom Fawley, or Tom Riddle Fawley, if you prefer."

Tom shook his head. "I don't."

Stewart's eyes crinkled and he gave a ghost of a grin. "We'll tackle those books tomorrow. Even if we can't do wandwork yet, you'll know your theory backwards and forwards before you get your letter."

—-

_One year later:_

"So do you have your robes?" Stewart asked.

Tom sighed. "Yes, I have my robes, and my books and my trunk. I have everything I'll need and more, Stew."

Stewart shook his head, and idly ruffled Tom's hair. Tom scowled, and put it back in place.

They had taken a bus to get to Lanesborough from Boston, and they were waiting for the tram to take the students up the mountain to Ilvermorny castle.

Stewart looked bashful. "I just want to make sure everything is right. Oh Tom, you're going to love it. The castle is just magnificent and the sorting ceremony...well you'll just have to wait and see."

"Do you think I'll end up in Thunderbird like you, Stew?" Tom asked.

"I think you'll make your own path, Tom, no matter what House you end up in."

As the families huddled by the edge of the tram, it slowly teetered down the mountain, attached to a train of surly Pukwudgies. It was a large glass box, filled with benches.

"First years, all aboard!" The largest Pukwudgie shouted. "Promptly, or you will be left behind."

The glass box opened and the students clambered inside. Tom hastily made his goodbyes.

"I'll write to you!" He shouted as he climbed aboard.

"You better!" Stewart shouted.

Tom stowed his trunk in the back with the others, and made his way to a bench. Most were already full, except for one seat at the back next to a tall, lanky Black boy. His eyes widened as he greeted Tom.

"Oh hello! My name is Nathaniel Piquery, but you can call me Nat."

Tom shuffled uncomfortably. He'd heard the name before somewhere. "Are you related to the President?"

Nat blushed. "I'm afraid so, she's my mother. Not the most popular person at the moment I expect."

Tom shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way." He extended his hand. "Tom Fawley."

Nat eagerly took his hand hoping to change the subject. "Fawley? So you're a Pureblood and you sound English. It's a wonder someone like you isn't going to Hogwarts!"

Tom stiffened. He wasn't certainly going to admit his true origins. "We live in Canada, my father wanted me to stay close to home."

"Well you're lucky indeed. Ilvermorny is much better than Hogwarts! But what's England like? I hear they actually can talk to nomaj there." Nat asked curiously.

Tom scowled. "It's horrid. It's dark and gloomy, and the nomaj are awful. Not like us."

Nat nodded. "I always thought we had the right idea. So what house do you think you'll be in? I know I'm going to be a Thunderbird."

When the tram reached the top of the mountain, Tom was greeted by the sight of the large imposing grey stone castle. It was magnificent. Tom noticed a large black tree, it's branches bare and it's trunk gnarled. Somehow, he felt a pull towards it. He wanted to touch it, to commune with it.

"First years, follow me!"

Tom was snapped back to reality, to the Sorting.

The students were corralled out by the Pukwudgie leader as they marched to the castle. They stopped at the large wooden door, which was flanked by two marble statues of a man and a woman. The Pukwudgie knocked on the door and it sprung open, leading them to a circular room with a large glass roof. By now it was dusk, and the other students had arrived, watching the proceedings from the balcony above them. At the center was a large gilded Gordian knot etched on the floor surrounded by four stone statues: one of a large serpent, a panther, a giant bird with its wings outstretched, and a giant Pukwudgie.

As the students lined up around the edge of the wall

a plump elderly woman in blue robes faced the crowd of new students.

"Greetings! My name is Professor Holloway. During the school year, I will teach you Charms, but I am also Ilvermorny's Deputy Headmistress. I will call out your names to be sorted, please stand at the center of the Gordian knot, and do not move. Your House will choose you. If you have more than one House choose you, you can decide where you want to go."

Holloway opened the scroll, clearing her throat.

"Addams!"

Tom watched as the statues moved of their own accord, picking the students one by one as they were cheered on by their fellow housemates. After they were chosen in their house, they were lead to a table to pick their wand- a relatively short and less interesting process. Tom wondered if he could find a way to sneak his wand home with him during the holidays. He knew they had to be kept back on school premises at all times, but there must be some loophole…

"Fawley!"

Tom lifted his head and looked up. It was his turn. He strode onto the knot, bringing forth all the confidence he could muster. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The crystal on the Horned Serpent glowed brightly, as the students standing by covered their eyes.

The wampus roared loudly, causing the floor to shake.

The Thunderbird flapped its wings in rapid succession.

The Pukwudgie, however, was still, it's arrow unmoving.

The students above murmured.

"Amazing!"

"Three Houses chose him."

"That's nothing, President Piquery had four and look where she is now."

"But he's certainly powerful."

Tom cleared his mind and tuned out the voices around him, thinking of the choice he had to make.

The Horned Serpent kept returning in his thought, though he wasn't sure why.

"I pick the House of the Horned Serpent," Tom declared.

There was a cheer from above as his fellow housemates were evidently happy to have him. As he walked to the wand table, he stared at the options before him. As he picked up each wand, none of them spoke to him.

After ten wands, he was getting worried. Perhaps there was a mistake? Maybe he didn't belong here.

He heard a few snickers from behind him, he knew he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Tom noticed a wand at the end of the table. It was slightly larger than the others, but very dusty. The wood was warped and knotted, a deep dark color similar to the tree he saw outside. There was a Celtic knot pattern engraved around the base.

"That one might not work," Holloway said gently. "It's a bit of a relic we've had in storage for years. It's just always stayed bundled up with the others and I forget to put it back."

Tom reaches for the wand, clasping it firmly in his hand. As he lifted it up, red sparks burst forth like fireworks, red gold glitter raining down.

Holloway cleared her throat. "Well then, it seems you have your wand. Snakewood, and core of unknown origin. Eleven inches. Please head into that door, it will lead you upstairs to the rotunda. The Great Hall is adjacent. You will sit with your housemates.

Tom found himself quite busy as he was plagued with questions from his new classmates. He noticed that Nat had in fact ended up in Thunderbird, but he hadn't minded.

"I heard your sorting was quite the show!" A petite girl with dark hair and grey eyes looked at him appraisingly. She extended her hand. "Ximena Calderon-Boot. Of the Calderon-Boots."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Not _the _Calderon-Boots?"

Ximena laughed. "Yes, the very same. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Tom. I heard you were from England?"

Ximena started taking food onto her plate. Tom looked at the items in front of him: turkey, roast apples, corn, green beans, cranberry sauce, stuffing and potatoes. He had never seen so much food before in his life.

"What is it? Oh, yes. I was born in England, but I live in Canada now. Alberta, actually."

Ximena took a slice of turkey. "I'm from Mexico. Is nice to meet someone outside the States. You think there'd be more of us."

"Is it mostly Americans?" Tom asked.

Ximena nodded. "And they make no qualms about it, especially now that most of the tribes have boycotted the school."

Tom hadn't heard of this before. "Why would they boycott? Isn't Ilvermorny the best school in America?"

Ximena nodded. "It is, but they feel that the Statute has hurt their people more than helped them, especially since they helped the Sayres establish the school. Since many of their nomaj family members had to relocate, they've chosen not to attend and stay with them."

Tom started to eat, not bothering to respond. It was unfair that the Statute was punishing the native peoples, but he felt it wasn't his concern. "What are you most excited about studying this year."

Ximena gave a wicked grin. "Definitely dueling, I heard there's a club. Would you want to go to tryouts with me? They don't allow first years to join, but maybe I could use my name to convince them to let us in some mock duels."

—

After supper, the students were escorted by the prefects to their dormitories. As they walked passed the Thunderbird table, Nat waved at Tom, who half-heartedly waved back. They descended up, then down a flight of stairs, then up again. The Serpent wing was one of the farthest from the Great Hall, tucked away next to the lake. The forest canopy draped over their windows, and the rich blue and green tones of the carpets and the plush couches created a calming atmosphere. A fire was roaring in the large black stone fireplace. The mantle was carved with the image of the Horned Serpent, as were the legs of the couches.

The Prefect explained the rules, which Tom felt were standard- no leaving after curfew, no using your wand for anything other than schoolwork, no making mischief, but Tom didn't care. His mind was racing as he held his wand in his hand. Tomorrow was the first day of classes, and the first day he would practice real magic. Tom joined his classmates to their rooms and prepared himself for bed.

As he rested his head on the pillow, he heard a familiar sound. It was a voice of a snake.

"_I can sense you, I can sense your blood. Can you hear me, child? Child of the Blood of Isolt, I am waiting._"


End file.
